


The Inner Chorus

by Pangaea



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Kirk, M/M, Old Age, Semi-PWP, kirk prime/spock prime - Freeform, lil bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:26:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangaea/pseuds/Pangaea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From 2009:</p><p>"This is the first ST fic I ever wrote . . . and the first story I've finished in . .years? </p><p>WARNING: this fic is quite smutty, could be called an Established Relationship PWP (old man porn!). </p><p>It takes place after the first six movies. Basically, Kirk and Spock are bondmates living out their days on Vulcan. Spock has been away for several weeks, and arrives home later than he had promised . . ."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inner Chorus

**Author's Note:**

> My own illustrations for this Fic at my K/S Art Tumblr--> http://princessofswordsart.tumblr.com/
> 
> Please visit, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Sarah

Ambassador Spock passed over the threshold of his home. It was very late at night, and many hours after the specific time he was supposed to have arrived. Spock had been away from Vulcan for nineteen days, tending to his ambassorial duties. It had been a particularly trying assignment, made no better by the event that occurred on his ship-ride back to his planet.

Some irate rogue from the side he had been speaking against decided to hold the Vulcan ambassadors personally responsible for the majority vote that had been cast. He took it upon himself to sabotage the Vulcans’ ship, causing navigation to fail while it tried to avoid a vast meteor cluster. Sending the ship coursing straight into the heart of the field.

Luckily, there had been no serious injuries or fatalities of any kind, merely cosmetic damage to the ship. The saboteur was proven inept when the crew broke the damaging scrambling codes that had been used in hardly any time. The biggest inconvenience that concerned Spock was now he would arrive home much later than he had promised.

He now stood in his dark house, and in that blackness he noticed something soft on the ground: slivers of white were littered about his feet. Then the smell delicately came to him, they were lunar flower petals. Their phosphorescent qualities made a little gleaming path. Spock, insatiably curious, could find no other choice, but to follow it.

The petals made a trail right to the place he’d already planned on heading for immediately upon his homecoming: the bedroom. When he entered the chamber he was greeted by the soft glow of several candles, low and melted, placed on the windowsill, and small stand to the left of the bed. The red glass lamp that hung to the right was also lit, both light sources warming the room with gold and crimson. 

The sheer bed-curtains facing the door were parted: giving Spock an eyeful that caused him to stop short in his tracks. 

On their immense bed lay Jim Kirk. He was completely naked and curled on his side, legs sprawled. His flesh sensuously lit by the jewel red of the lamp. His face was pressed against Spock’s pillow, the luscious mouth was slightly parted, leaking saliva . . . and, oh yes, Jim was also snoring quite loudly.

 

It was the most beautiful and welcoming sight Spock had seen in weeks.

 

He released the breath he’d been holding and his whole body simply eased. Bemused, he continued to follow the petals straight up to his bed, and crawled to rest his tired body against his mate’s. His hand cupped the sphere of Jim’s shoulder and gripped softly. The snores sputtered into slow silence. Jim moaned and shuffled backwards, shaping himself into the cradle of the Vulcan’s body. He touched the fingers resting on his shoulder.

“You’re late,” croaked the sleep-thick voice.

Spock let out a soft noise that was almost laughter. “The situation was not in my control,” he purred into Jim’s ear, “I cannot account for saboteurs and meteor fields.”

“Excuses, excuses,” the human said with a smile in his voice. He trailed his fingers further up to Spock’s wrist and gave pause when he felt netted fabric on the hand. Spock was still dressed in all the layers of his formal robes. Jim shifted and sat himself upright, turning so that he and Spock faced each other. He sat sideways, legs curled halfway under him, his hand resting on the bed between their bodies. Spock continued to lounge on his side, propping himself up on his left elbow.

They stayed that way for a moment, merely drinking in the sight of each other, thirst quelling after their time apart. Jim’s eyes sparkled, with his lips curling he remarked, “Mr. Spock, I believe you’re too overdressed to be in this bed.”

Spock moved his right hand, pointed his two first fingers together and began to slowly caress down the side of Jim’s fingers on the bed.

“Then you will have to help me out of these robes, T’hy’la. My hands are not as deft as they used to be.”

Jim gathered Spock’s hand into his. He lifted the pointing fingers to his lips and blessed them with a gentle kiss. All the while he held his eyes steady with the other’s dark gaze, giving Spock a lustful look that told him Jim hadn’t believed a word of the Vulcan’s last statement. 

“Is that so?” Jim mused nonetheless. He turned Spock’s palm upwards and gave him another kiss. He pulled the small loop of the netting loose from Spock’s middle finger, and pushed the fabric down, pressing his lips to the fine-bone wrist, the smooth skin beneath.

Jim’s touch sent fire across the quivering skin, and Spock allowed himself to be pulled up by the grasping hands. He felt a faint green wave of desperation emanating from Jim; it mixed with the broiling red of desire that the human was radiating. The heat and the colors threatened to engulf Spock when Jim brought their mouths together.

They did not fuse with reckless abandon, as they would have in their younger days, but instead teased each other with skirting, feathery touches. Jim brushed his wet, parted lips over Spock’s, sucking softly at his lower lip. Jim maneuvered Spock onto his back, both of their feet now pointing towards the head of the bed. Jim’s thick hands caressed the Vulcan’s neck, moving to the catch at the front of the first stiff layer of robes.

Years of practice had Jim fluently unhooking, untying and peeling off the first two coats, while Spock kissed at the corners of his mouth, his chin, the wide bridge of his nose. Within seconds Spock was down only a thin, turquoise-black dressing gown and the netting on his arms.

Enflamed, Spock reared up, and whispered, “Jim” softly before pressing their lips true. Now they did kiss with reckless abandon, with deep passion. The last film of fabric was insignificant, a silken stimulus as they drove heaving bellies, their twining legs, and their aching cocks together. It was Jim who was then rolled onto his back. The human groaned, spread his legs and thrust against Spock’s hardness, wanting to feel this man’s aroused flesh against his own.

“Oh, Spock . . .” Jim sighed against the blushing lips.

His human’s voice, thick with passion, filled Spock with resolve. He gently pulled himself away from Jim, drew his thin gown over his head and tossed it onto the floor. Spock reached back to the small cubby holes carved into the wall at the head of their bed. He extracted a small crystal vial, filled halfway with thick amber oil. He swiftly popped the small top and dripped a little of the syrupy contents onto his long fingers.

Turning back to Jim he knelt, and wasted no time in pulling the man’s parted legs into his lap. Jim gasped at the sensation of Spock’s first finger running down the cleft between his legs. The same two fingers that had moments before been used to lovingly tease Jim’s hand were now sliding deep inside him, finding the places the Vulcan knew were there: spots that would make his mate writhe, and plead, and cry out.

Jim did all these things, and the sounds fell on Spock’s ears like prayer. With his other hand he stroked the blunt cock, knowing this was a sweet hell that he was putting Jim through. A tiny, egotistical part of Spock waited for Jim to tell him what he wanted. It was the only selfish indulgence he took in bed, he longed to hear his bondmate beg, just a little.

“Spock,” Jim finally panted, “Spock, please . . . God, please, I need you inside me.”

Spock released a low breath and withdrew his fingers, moving the narrow head of his cock to the relaxed entrance. Spock had intended to keep a steady pace, pushing forward slowly, his way eased by the warm oil inside. But Jim had the opposite idea. He slanted his pelvis upwards, simultaneously swinging his legs over Spock’s severe hips.

The action drove them together, deeply and swiftly. Jim cried sharply in zeal, and continued to grind himself until Spock was fully sheathed. At the delicious pressure, Spock’s free hand moved instinctively to the meld spots on his lover’s face. There was a connective burst of energy from Jim, and streams of color flowed between them, behind their eyes. Spock began to move, he stirred his hips with the force Jim craved. The moaning creature pressed his heels into Spock’s back. He slid a hand up the Vulcan’s chest, to his shoulder then neck, pulling Spock towards him, to kiss him again.

Spock moved his hands to cradle Jim’s head, the bond-meld between them strong and old enough for them to not need a direct link. Jim worked his lips to Spock’s ear, he teased the pointed tip with his tongue and commanded, “Deeper, Spock.” 

Spock raised his face to meet Jim’s eyes, “Yes,” he gasped softly, and straightened his upper body. Scooping his right hand under Jim’s thigh he positioned the leg over his shoulder, turning his head to briefly kiss the soft flesh. Jim’s other leg remained wound tight around Spock’s middle. Spock bowed himself, nearly bending Jim in double.

He continued to curl forward when Jim tugged on his arms, until he was driving himself straight down into the body beneath him. The limitless intensity of his thrusts forced short, brash cries from the human’s lips. Spock heightened his senses in the meld, making sure that Jim’s cries were those of pleasure and not of pain, for the position his back was held in.

With his left arm braced firmly on the bed, Spock reached for Jim’s fingers. He drew their hands down to Jim’s oiled cock, wrapped Jim around himself, and then enveloped the hand with his own, pulling upwards. When Spock felt the tingling black edges of pain coming from the human he removed his hand (while Jim continued what they had started), untwined his mate’s legs, and shifted himself back.

Before the protest in Jim’s eyes could reach his lips, Spock flipped him over, and brought him up on his knees. He pushed back into that tight warmth, gripped Jim’s hipbones, and set a tempo that would bring blissful release for them both. The fevered rhythm of their whole beings could not be maintained for much longer. They were strained by the time their bodies had spent apart.

By the sound of Jim’s gasps and the curdling green-gold of his passion, Spock knew Jim was very very close, his hand relentless between his legs.

Sure enough seconds later Jim panted, “Spock! I’m going . . . I’m . . .Oh!” Spock felt the fire drain from Jim’s being, while the man’s body tightened with orgasm around Spock inside him. Overcome, Spock let himself go with one final thrust. The both cried out, their nerves singing with the pleasure and pain at the core of where their bodies joined.

Sliding his hands to Jim’s ribs he turned them both around to lay their heads on the pillows. On their left sides, they snuggled together as they had when Spock first crawled fully clothed into bed. Spock reached up into the carved niches, extracted several tissues, and discretely cleaned the two of them.

Spock wrapped his arms about Jim’s chest and planted soft kisses on his nape and neck. They rested this way with the miasma of the bond-link still flowing faintly between them. Spock communicated a desire to Jim, and they lifted the blankets. They burrowed together into the plush cocoon of bedding, and arranged themselves according to the image spoken in Spock’s mind.

The Vulcan stretched on his back while Jim molded himself into Spock’s frame. With Jim’s head on his shoulder Spock wrapped his left arm around the warm body, and the two of them began to sink into the cool blackness of sleep. Spock pressed his lips into Jim’s hair.

Spock could still acutely feeling the human’s exhaustion, but it didn’t surprise him at all when Jim muttered, “I was hoping to do it again . . .”

Spock kissed his crown, “Go to sleep, we have all day tomorrow.”

“All day? Promise?” Spock could hear the grin in that voice.

 

As Spock drifted off into the dreamtime he continued to send thought and feeling through the fading link. Waves of cream and gold made of the love and gratitude at being back home.

 

Taluhk nash-veh k’dular, T’hy’la

 

“Ashau du . . .” Jim responded.

 

 

 

 

  
Chapter End Notes:

Story©2009 Princess of Swords

Characters, alas, be not mine ©Paramount/Gene Roddenberry/etc.


End file.
